


Radio Silence

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: #coulsonlives, Clint Needs a Hug, Emotionally Compromised Clint, Get Together, Insecure Clint, Insecure Phil, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tony is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has a crush on Clint, and Clint has a crush on Phil. Both have given up any hope of it being reciprocated, in part due to S.H.I.E.L.D's fraternization policies, but when Clint deems himself compromised by his attraction to Phil, Phil is surprised to realize that he is no longer Clint's superior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fraternization Regulations Don't Apply

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely shameless fluff and I really can't bring myself to care.
> 
>  **Warning** : Contains vague references to past child abuse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fury is a scheming, lying bastard, Clint is surprisingly tender and prone to sulking fits and Phil is so used to repressing his attraction that he forgets Clint isn't his subordinate.

Clint Barton has disagreed with many of the orders Phil has given him.

Off the top of his head, Phil can name no less than seven different scenarios in the past month in which Clint argued with him about a call, but Clint has only outright refused two orders with Phil as his handler. Phil can recall them both with abject clarity; Clint's revelatory, "She wants to come in," before the comm went dead as he went to negotiate with the Black Widow, and "Fuck that!" when Phil had been taken captive and used his last breaths to instruct Clint to wait for backup.

Phil has managed to institute a tradition of sorts: Whenever Clint disagrees with an order and argues with Phil, once the op has ended, Phil makes a point of scheduling a debriefing session at the nearest coffee house as soon as possible, and lays out the motivations behind his actions clearly and concisely, in order to settle the tension betwen the two of them.

Phil is willing to concede that this tradition is due in part to Clint's tendency of a post-mission sulk. Gone are the nearly-daily visits from the sniper, the quiet taps from the vents, the cups of coffee left at Phil's desk; Clint makes a point of avoiding Phil, forcing him to seek Clint out either at the shooting range or his room, and, during particularly impressive feats of sulking, Natasha's quarters.

Post-mission, Clint has never tried to find Phil of his own volition before, which is why he's surprised to find the archer in Phil's bedroom, blond head bowed over clenched fingers, sitting on Phil's bed.

"Clint?" Phil asks, a question and a greeting rolled into one word, since Phil has seen Clint's volatile reactions when surprised by an unexpected visitor. Clint glances upwards, meeting Phil's eyes in a silent welcome, before dropping his head again, making no move to speak. Phil has seen him in this state before, trying to speak but unsure of how to find the words, so he picks up his tablet (Tony had foisted it on him when he moved into the tower) and seats himself next to Clint before starting to check his emails.

Clint's jaw works, but Phil doesn't call him out on it, giving him time and silence to collect his thoughts and gather himself. He is rewarded by a soft exhalation. "You don't need to explain the motivations of today's order to me, sir."

Clint's voice is soft, vulnerable, and Phil has to fight down the instinct to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The order in question had been a hurriedly snapped, "Hold position, Hawkeye!" as hostile HYDRA goons converged on Phil's location. Though Phil easily held them off until reinforcements arrived in the form of Steve's shield, Clint had been uncharacteristically worried. "I can take them out in a moment," Clint had protested. "It's only a single shot!"

"Natasha needs your backup more than I do, Hawkeye," Phil had ground out, voice hitching from the strength of his gun's recoil, though his arms had remained steady, finally recovered after his temporary death at Loki's hands. Phil had taken care to keep his voice level, knowing Clint would only take it as further encouragement, but deep down he was touched by Clint's concern on his behalf.

Ever since the loudmouthed sniper had come to S.H.I.E.L.D, he'd entranced Phil with the mind he kept so carefully hidden behind his mesmerising eyes. Clint could be a smartass at times, but Phil had realized it was an act from their first op together onwards, when Clint had fallen silent at Phil's murmured, "Good work, Agent Barton," struck dumb by a simple act of kindness. His realization was only further confirmed by the affection Clint bestowed on the junior agents training under him, the kindness communicated by purple post-its stuck to Phil's monitor bearing, "Don't forget to eat!"

Knowing Clint cared for him, trusted him, was enough to send shivers of excitement down Phil's spine, and he was grateful Steve had arrived on the scene, stopping Clint's argument short, since Phil had known he would cave to Clint in the end. He'd felt a brief twinge of dread at Clint's loud breath, preparing to unleash his anger at Phil's orders.

Now, Clint takes another breath, a shallower one. "I was distracted." he admits, words pitched low. "I managed to cover Nat, but it was a near thing, because I was worried."

Though Phil has already worked out what he means, Clint adds, "Worried about you." with another glance, piercing blue eyes travelling up to meet Phil's before quickly dropping back down. "I was-" Clint shudders, the word still difficult for him to say. "I was compromised. By you."

Phil barely has enough time to process this sudden realization before Clint is standing, smiling mirthlessly, and he blurts out the first thing on his mind, desperate to keep Clint there. "How long?" Phil asks, because he can't help but hope, can't help but dream that maybe his infatuation isn't one-sided.

Clint fixes him with a disbelieving stare. "From our first op, Coulson. You were the first person at S.H.I.E.L.D to treat me as anything but a weapon, anything but a tool, the first person to bother to sit me down and say 'Good work' and smile at me like I wasn't a nuisance."

He smiles now, tinged with a bit of sadness. "I've managed to keep it from interfering with our work, but ever since you died..."

Phil understood him all too well. Since he'd come back, it had been harder and harder to repress his growing attraction to Clint, because though he couldn't remember his last words, he could remember his last regret.

Clint turns, drawing Phil's attention back to him. "Feel free to request a transfer, sir," he says, almost inaudible, and to anyone else, he would have sounded unaffected, cheerful. Phil isn't anyone else, has had that voice in his ear and in his office and by his bedside in medical and can understand every nuace of it. Phil knows Clint's voice, knows it better than his own, and he knows that the quieter Clint is, the more vulnerable he feels, his usual wisecracks and jokes his way of broadcasting his ease. Phil hears Clint's dejection, his current misery hard to reconcile with the usual exuberance in Clint's tone.

"Clint, wait," Phil starts, and stops, because he doesn't know what he's saying, knowing only that he wants to reassure Clint that his feelings are reciprocated, but it's improper for him to engage in a relationship with his... asset...

When Fury had told Phil that he would retain his security clearance, but leave active field duty in order to serve as the Avengers liasion to S.H.I.E.L.D, Phil had been furious though he'd known the director was only trying to protect him from the WSC. Now, he better understood the motivations behind the move, recalling the cryptic sparkle in Fury's eye as he'd announced Phil's new role.

"Yeah, boss?" Clint asks, turning, and Phil can read hesitance in his eyes, the careful way he carries himself.

"Phil." Phil says, and he feels a smile curving his mouth when Clint blinks, cerulean eyes wide. "I'm not your boss anymore, Barton. I'm just Phil."

Clint's smile returns, tentative, tinged with hope. "You're not _just_ anything, sir- I mean, Phil. And I know I've told you this before, but you can call me Clint. Or keep on using Barton, if you prefer."

Phil doesn't bother stifling his chuckle at Clint's fumble, and is rewarded with an answering grin. "Clint." he tries, the name unfamiliar in his mouth, and he doesn't miss the subtle dilation of Clint's pupils. "You've been a bit presumptuous."

"Is that so?" Clint asks innocently, stepping closer, and Phil rises up from the bed.

"Quite," Phil replies, and the tiny voice in him whispering _stop no subordinate_ is finally drowned out by the knowledge that Clint is now his peer, his equal, and as such follows the rules of S.H.I.E.L.D's fraternization policies. Phil has spent hours poring over those policies, trying to find a way to engage in a relationship with Clint, and Clint seems to have done the same, judging by the remark about finding a replacement handler. "I think you're operating under the assumption that your affection is unrequited."

Clint's eyes gleam in the dim light of the bedroom, and he takes a last step forward, moving right to the limit of Phil's personal space. "So, si- Phil, you're trying to tell me that you're attracted to me?"

Phil shrugs. "Attraction doesn't even begin to cover it. It's more along the lines of a crush, by this point, though I've yet to be informed of another crush lasting longer than ten years."

Clint smirks at the word crush, but his mouth falls open when he picks up Phil's meaning. "Wait," he begins, hushed. "You... Ten years?"

"Ever since our first op," Phil admits, and Clint's smile turns soft, shy.

"I guess this has been a long time in coming." he finally replies, and Phil tugs him closer, Clint's arms wrapping around him carefully, hands lingering, as if to verify that Phil is real, that it's not just a dream. Phil understands the sentiment.

"It has," Phil tries to say, but it comes out more as a pleased purr. Clint's hands are large and warm and he's decided to nuzzle into Phil's neck, the edges of his hair tickling Phil's nose, and he huffs a soft laugh, the breath ghosting across Phil's skin, before pulling back, gaze molten. He leans forward, slowly, gently, giving Phil plenty of time to react. Phil tugs him closer with an exasperated snort, and his brain nearly shorts out when he feels soft lips - _Clint's_ lips - meet his. Clint smiles into the kiss, and this close, Phil can see the tiny flecks of gold in his lustrous eyes gleam in sharp relief as his pupils dilate, eyes darkening with desire, before Clint gently pushes him back.

Unable to stop an unsatisfied sound too close to a whimper for his liking, Phil breaks away from the kiss, and he feels the tips of his ears heat when he realizes he's probably let Clint down, inexperienced compared to the mesmerizing archer. "Phil," Clint murmurs, and Phil drops his gaze, expecting criticism, a gentle reprimand.

Clint abruptly jerks his head, bumping their foreheads, and Phil can't help looking up, a "What was that for?" on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows his words, shocked by the open admiration in Clint's heated gaze. "I'd really like to, uh," Clint ducks his head. "As much as I enjoyed that, I- I really want to take this slow. To treat you right, Phil."

Phil's knees weaken at Clint's explanation, unable to process that the archer wants to date Phil, to take his time, that this isn't just a one-off. He can't help the smile that illuminates his face, nor does he want to, and he pulls Clint into another kiss, rougher this time, tightening his grip, eliciting a surprised moan from Clint. His hands map the landscape of Phil's back, and Phil lets go of Clint for a moment in order to guide the archer's hands down, since Clint seems to be waiting for permission.

With a pleased sigh, Clint cups the curve of Phil's ass, and Phil swipes his tongue tentatively across Clint's lips. Clint enthusiastically responds, tongue laving against Phil's, and Phil is unsuccessful in biting back a moan as the taste of Clint floods into his mouth, cut with the aroma of coffee and heady, heady intoxication. Phil is prepared for aggression, prepared for bites and scrabbles for dominance, but Clint keeps the kiss gentle, kissing with an overwhelming gentleness that leaves Phil seeing stars and feeling cherished, feeling wanted, and he has to break away to shakily take a breath, drunk on Clint's dizzying presence, Clint's arms a steadying embrace.

"Wow," Clint breaths, and Phil flushes, cheeks heating, realizing that not only is he very much aroused, he's pressed so tightly to Clint that there is no way the other man can't feel it, but Clint makes no attempts to move away, his own erection pressing into the crook of Phil's hip. "If I'd known you kissed like that, Phil... Just-"

Phil chokes out a stuttering laugh. "If _I'd_ known you kissed like that, I would've kissed you right on that first op, subordinate or not."

Clint's eyes darken, and Phil feels a rush of pleasure as Clint's cock jerks, at the way he's so obviously affected by Phil's words. "Yeah?" Clint rasps, voice throaty, and a low heat settles into the pit of Phil's stomach.

"Yeah." Phil confesses, and Clint sways in to kiss him again, chaste and tender, before leaning back.

"I really want to take you out for dinner before having sex," Clint explains regretfully, and laughs as Phil's own erect shaft jerks. "A proper dinner, at a fancy restaurant, with a suit and a tie. And if we keep doing that I'll be hard pressed to restrain myself."

Phil swallows - hard - because Clint asks for so little that Phil is powerless to deny him most anything, and he can already imagine the archer dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric calling attention to the breadth of his shoulders, his tight waist. He bites back a groan when he pictures slowly undressing Clint, slipping off his jacket, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt before kissing all the way down to his navel... "I'd love to."

"Yeah." Clint breathes, in agreement, but neither of them make a move to part, and Phil is struck dumb by the amazement reflected in Clint's eyes, as if he can't believe that he's kissed Phil, that he's asked Phil on a date, and he's just resolved to lean into another kiss when JARVIS interrupts, politely clearing his throat.

"Agent Coulson, Agent Barton, Miss Potts has requested your presence in the common dining area."

Phil is hard pressed to stop a mewl when Clint steps back, the sudden loss of his heat sending prickles along Phil's skin. Clint hesitates, uncertain, before extending his hand. "Shall we?" he asks, quiet, tentative, and Phil can't stop his laugh before it bubbles out, and Clint's face falls, disappointment evident on his features, and Phil's laughter dies in his throat because Clint thinks that Phil is ashamed of Clint. "Well-" Clint lowers his eyes, jerking his hand back, running it nervously through his hair. "I guess I should've asked, or- I mean, I don't mind hiding, as long as I get to be with you, so-"

Phil gapes at him. "If you think I would ever want hide being in a relationship with someone as amazing as you, Clint, think again."

Clint blushes, pink coloring his cheeks, because compliments and praise are still a rarity for him, and Phil offers his own hand. Clint reaches to take it, ever so slowly, until their fingers brush against each other. In one fluid motion, he laces his fingers in Phil's. "Let's go?" he asks, and Phil knows he's already preparing to deal with the barrage of questions that the team will no doubt inevitably direct at them, with the exception of Natasha, who'll just smirk, and possibly Bruce. Clint's words are casual, almost nonchalant, but his voice is controlled, tense, and Phil leans in to press a quick peck to his cheek.

"Imagine Stark's face," he whispers conspiratorially into his ear, and Clint huffs a surprised laugh, grin only growing wider when Phil's lips twitch in a satisfied smile. 


	2. Vanity Fair is Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is surprisingly slow on the uptake and gets offended when he realizes Clint and Phil are in a budding relationship. Pepper's doubts are assuaged, Natasha is saved from the torture of concentrated pining, and Bruce is, as always, quiet. Thor turns out to be surprisingly open-minded, and Clint finds out that cellists and archers are more similar than he first suspected.

It takes a moment for the assembled Avengers to notice them.

Natasha, as always, notices first, from her perch between a furiously arguing Tony and Steve, and, though her face remains impassive, she quirks an eyebrow, an overwhelming demonstration of congratulations from anyone else. It takes a moment longer for Pepper to notice, from her seat at the head of the table, and when she lowers her eyes to Phil and Clint's, she frowns for a moment before her eyes gleam with understanding.

"I like your cellist," she mouths, before resuming her quiet conversation with JARVIS, skilfully evading Tony's expansive hand gestures as he tries to explain to Steve that _No, you can't expect people to call your cell phone when you've forgotten to give them your number_.

Clint nudges Phil's side. "Cellist?" he murmurs.

Phil shrugs, and pretends he doesn't feel the tips of his ears flaring. Clint's gaze momentarily flicks to them, and when his eyes meet Phil's again, they're intrigued. "She asked, and all I could think of was a bow."

Clint expression rapidly turns elated. "I'm the cellist in Portland?" he asks, louder this time, and Phil can't help his fond smile, because when Clint is loud, Clint is pleased. Clint takes the smile as answer enough, and he tugs at Phil's hand before ambling towards the two empty seats left at the conference table.

Phil settles himself and starts to turn to the rest of the Avengers, but Clint has other ideas, pulling his chair closer and slinging his arm possessively around Phil's waist, the warmth of his touch sending tingles along Phil's back. Phil is unable to stifle a surprised breath at the sudden sensation, and Clint immediately withdraws his arm, face going impressively blank. "If you don't want-" he begins, but Phil's already pulling his arm back, wrapping it around himself, leaning slightly into Clint's solid presence at his side.

Clint cuts himself off with sated sigh and snuggles closer, and Phil can't help wondering if he's going to be even cuddlier in bed, and has to quickly derail his train of thought because imagining being tangled up in 220 pounds of sleepy sniper _without_ pulling said sniper closer to test the theory is an exercise in self restraint he is unwilling to put himself through.

When he finally feels the uncomfortable tightening in his pants ease, Phil clears his throat, and Steve immediately turns away from Tony, movements precise and snappy, while Tony continues arguing on for a moment longer. "Yes, I know that it seems like a pain, but you can't really expect us to know your number just from-"

Natasha cuffs him on the back of the head, none too gently, and he teeters forward before turning to glare at her. "That was-"

"Tony." Bruce sighs in exasperation, and Pepper passes her snort off as a short-lived coughing fit.

"What do- Oh, my favourite Agent." Tony turns to Phil with a pleased grin. "And Merida. How nice."

Phil can practically feel Clint's hackles rising, and when he hears him take a deep breath to fire off a wisecrack or five, without thinking, Phil places his hand on Clint's thigh to try and calm him down. Clint's eyes flick downwards and back up, the only indication of Phil's touch above table level, but the hand not currently around Phil slowly rises before gently settling on Phil's hand.

"I'm sure Director Fury will be pleased to learn of your preferences in agent," Phil responds, twitching his mouth in a vague approximation of a smile, and Tony, per usual, blanches.

Phil has to take a deep breath of his own when he realizes _where_ exactly he's put his hand, suddenly almost hyper-aware of Clint's proximity, feeling the defined swell of muscles bulging under his palm, and he's about to draw his hand away until Clint actually purrs, a soft, pleased rumble emanating from deep within his chest.

Phil thinks he's managed to maintain his carefully schooled expression of bland attention, until Nat coughs minutely, hand fluidly flicking upwards to cover her mouth, the closest she usually gets to laughing. A quick glance at Clint reveals a smug smirk and dancing eyes, and Phil bites down his near automatic reprimand and leaves his hand where it is.

Bruce chooses that moment to politely tap on Phil's shoulder. "Yes, Doctor Banner?"

"I believe congratulations are in order," Bruce offers, eyes kind behind his glasses, and Phil treats him to a rare smile, the one thinking of Clint can effortlessly elicit from him.

"Thanks, Bruce," Clint beams, and he gently caresses Phil's side, the heat of his hands permeating even the resilient fabric of Phil's suit. Phil stifles his yelp of surprise, because he'd been expecting something of the sort as each member of the team signalled their approval of their new-fledged relationship. Clint tends to be wary of displays of affection when he feels threatened, and Phil remembers a few times, at the very beginning of their friendship, when Clint had carefully avoided Phil after hearing rumours of a romantic relationship between them. His avoidance makes more sense to Phil now, and to show his approval of Clint's actions, he shifts slightly in his seat, shoulder bumping against Clint in reciprocation.

Phil takes a moment to process the other Avengers' reactions. Tony is oblivious, to his surprise, and so, much less surprisingly, is Thor. Pepper is dictating to JARVIS, otherwise preoccupied, but Natasha is smiling as much as a ruthless assassin can, which is to say, not much. Steve's eyes are narrowed, flicking between Clint and Phil, before understanding dawns and his face cracks in a broad grin. Phil does his best to mask his sigh of relief, but when Clint and Natasha roll their eyes in tandem, he feels his ears heat.

"I'll offer my congratulations as well, then," Steve enthuses, sapphire eyes warm, and Tony finally realizes something's happening and, _horror of horrors_ , he's not the center of attention anymore.

"Congratulations for what?" Tony blurts, and Phil feels Clint stiffen ever so slightly, because even though he pretends that Tony is nothing more than a nuisance, Phil knows Clint places a great deal of trust in him. After not only giving Clint a place to stay during his suspension from S.H.I.E.L.D, and hacking the S.H.I.E.L.D database to reveal that Phil was, in fact, alive, his death lasting only eight seconds, Tony has become important to Clint, unaware of the rarity associated with the honor. Phil takes a moment to brace himself in preparation as well, because if Tony reacts badly, Clint could realistically end up getting hurt.

Clint flings his arm around Phil's shoulders, a study in casual. "We're together," he explains, tone flippant, but Phil knows him better, feels the way Clint's hand clenches around his own, and waits for Tony's reaction.

Tony doesn't disappoint. His eyes open comically wide, mouth gaping in incomprehension, looking first at Clint, then at Phil, then back at Clint again, before focusing on their proximity, their closeness. "You- When- _How long_ -" Tony squawks, before Thor slams his fist down onto the tabletop, the furniture rattling with the force of a blow.

"The Eye of Hawk has seen fit to take the Son of Coul as his shield brother!" Thor booms excitedly. "The union of such proficient warriors is cause for much celebration!"

When Thor extricates himself from his chair, Clint hurriedly clears the tabletop space directly in front of them of any potentially hazardous objects, in preparations of the overly-enthusiastic congratulatory backslap. When his face is, predictably, slammed into his paper work, Phil considers the rather disconcerting parallels between Thor and a drunk college student, down to the god's odd infatuation with Pop-Tarts.

"Wait, wait, hold on!" Tony yawps, unwilling to remain out of the spotlight for long. "Agent Agent, Fury's right hand, the human robot, the terror of Level Five agents everywhere-" Phil tries to hide his wince at the nickname, but judging by Clint's amused snort, is entirely unsuccessful "-Is dating... _Barton_?"

Clint's arm tightens, pulling Phil even closer, and Phil nods, anticipating Clint's unspoken question, and is not disappointed when Clint gives him a big smooch on the lips, loud and smacking. "As of this morning." Phil elaborates, as Tony slumps back into his chair, and resolutely ignores the flush creeping up his own neck.

"Isn't anyone else surprised by this?" Tony enquires faintly, and this time, it's Natasha's turn to snort. She glares when they all whip their heads to look at her.

"You aren't the ones who've been stuck with these two lovesick idiots for the better part of a decade," she snaps. "You'd think Christmas had come early from all the pining."

Clint makes an undignified noise that sounds suspiciously similar to "Fuck off" colliding with a surprised laugh, and Phil sympathetically pats his leg when the archer coughs. It sounded excruciatingly painful to produce.

"I've suspected." Bruce discloses, after a moment, and Pepper chimes in with her agreement. "I entertained the notion, but dismissed it when I remembered the cellist."

She considers it, brow furrowed. "Now, actually... I'm not sure if I knew all along or if I was artfully mislead."

Clint stops coughing long enough to choke out, "That's Phil for you," the fondness evident even through the strain in his voice, and Phil squeezes the hand that has somehow managed to reposition itself enough to intertwine with his, secure in its resting place on Clint's thigh.

"I only realized it just before you," Steve admits, and Tony nearly squeaks in outrage.

"You mean I was the last to find out?!"

"Nay, Man of Iron, you and I were joined in our revelation!" Thor cajoles, and Tony flaps his hand at him. "You don't count, Thor, you're an alien. Do you even realize what being gay means?"

Thor frowns, eyes going flinty. "I have known honourable men and women, and dishonourable men and women and the Eye of Hawk and Son of Coul are amongst the most honourable of them all." he rumbles. "The blessing of love is a gift of the highest order, no matter if shared between a man and a woman, a man and a man, a woman and a woman, or different genders entirely."

Phil blinks at the unexpected show of solidarity, and Clint smiles dazedly at the god. "Thanks, buddy."

Tony scrabbles desperately for a witty retort but comes up empty handed, mutely giving Phil and Clint a thumbs-up before sinking silently back into his chair, struck dumb for once.

"If I may be so bold," JARVIS speaks suddenly, "I would like to divulge that I became aware of romantic inclinations between Agent Barton and Agent Coulson after Agent Coulson's move to the Avengers tower."

"Clint refusing to sleep anywhere except beside you was quite cute," Pepper adds, with a wistful smile.

Phil remembers those few weeks, drifting in an out of a medicated haze. Clint had refused to leave his side, bar the occasional bathroom or shower break, carefully tending to all of Phil's needs, wetting his lips with ice when he wanted to speak, slowly feeding him meticulously bite-sized pieces of the food Natasha brought in on a regular basis, lulling him back to sleep softly when he woke up breathless from a nightmare. Phil had thought it was just a matter of guilt - he wouldn't let himself think otherwise, since he knew getting involved with Clint would only end painfully - but now, judging by Clint's sheepish expression, he realizes he's miscalculated, as he tends to do when Clint is involved.

Steve raps a sharp tattoo on the table, and Phil feels a sharp flash of pride when the entire team settle as one. "As much as I'm glad for the two of you," Steve indulges in a fond smile, "Pepper called us here to make an announcement."

Pepper nods briskly, immediately composed, businesslike. "Thank you, Steve. A rather worrying trend has emerged over the past few months, ever since the battle of New York. An increasing number of people have complained, both to government institutions and to the..." her mouth twitches, "The press, about the Avengers."

Her declaration is met by a moment of stunned silence. Much to Phil's surprise, Tony isn't the one who breaks it. "But we're saving the city!" Clint bursts out, incredulous. "We're protecting them!"

Pepper sighs. "We are. But in the process, we're damaging the city. Small business owners with little to no insurance support have been left crippled by the battle itself, and it doesn't help that we've been causing a great amount of collateral damage over the past few weeks."

Phil flicks his gaze to Tony, waiting for the billionaire's inevitable outburst, and is surprised to find him nodding in agreement, brow furrowed.

"I've conferred with JARVIS and the local relief groups about this issue," Pepper continues, "And we've concluded that the Avengers need more visibility, both as their superhero personas and as actual people. Getting involved with the rebuilding efforts will put us in a positive light, and capitalizing on our good standing with interviews will begin to solidify our presence as an official defence force."

Phil is about to draw attention to the glaring flaw in the plan, but Bruce gets there first, and Natasha shoots him a dryly amused look. "Miss Potts," the scientist intones, carefully clasping his hands. "I don't believe conducting interviews with a man who has a tendency to transform into a hulking green rage monster under pressure will end satisfactorily."

Clint muffles his chuckle in Phil's hair, warm breath eliciting a shiver of surprise tempered with arousal Phil fights to bite down.

Pepper steeples her fingers. "Based on some rather extensive studies I've had JARVIS conduct over the past few weeks, that may be a mistaken assumption. Based on the public's reaction to some of Tony's more...  _outlandish_ interviews-" Tony snorts "-We've realized that your rather eccentric personalities may serve to endear you to the public instead of alienate them."

Phil can't help his surprised huff of breath. "I keep forgetting she's the CEO of one of the world's most influential companies," he murmurs to Clint. "Then again, she's experienced in the delicate art of Stark-wrangling, so I suppose everything else comes naturally."

Clint chuckles softly. "I'd pay good money to sit in on one of her board meetings."

"So you mean to say that the public will come to like a Russian superspy, a billionaire with a severe case of egomania, a giant green rage monster, an alien from a different realm, and a loudmouthed, insubordinate sniper?" Natasha questions, eyebrows rising slightly, voice cool. Steve opens his mouth to object at not being included, but closes it when Natasha scowls at him.

"To reduce our capabilities to mere shadows of our person is to slight our worth!" Thor objects. "The warriors gathered in this haven will easily conquer the threat of public dissent."

Phil hides a smile, not-so-secretly pleased that the god refers to him as a warrior as well, and Clint nudges him. "Agent's Agent," he murmurs.

"Thor's right," Tony says, seemingly recovered from his uncharacteristic meekness, "And I agree with Pepper. Operating within the public eye has a potential to do us a lot of good. And hey." He gestures at himself, mouth curving in a smug smirk. "I've got a reputation as a hellish interviewee, and people are still plying Pepper with offers to put me on air, now more so than ever."

Steve's brow is furrowed, but he nods his agreement. "I'm not sure how well it's going to work, but it's the closest thing to a plan we have at the moment. I think we should try it."

Beside Phil, Clint turns to meet Natasha's eyes, and Phil studies their moment of silent conversation, consisting entirely of Clint's lips twitching and Natasha inclining her head imperceptibly. That he manages to interpret it as _Sounds like fun to you?_  and _Yes_  respectively is a testament to the time he's spent together with the two agents.

After a brief hesitation, Bruce nods, and Thor pats him reassuringly on the back. "Fear not, my friend. I shall be there to help subdue the rage living in you."

"What do you say, boss?" Clint asks, and Phil does his best to scowl at the honorific. From the way Clint's eyes twinkle, Phil figures Clint knows he's not actually annoyed.

"This has a lot of potential. We should conduct a trial interview and see how it goes. If it works, we'll take a look at attempting to capitalize on your influence with Avengers themed merchandise, and if it doesn't, we can come up with another plan."

"Hear, hear," choruses Tony. "Now, if we're going to get interviewed, I want it to be either on primetime or for a magazine, I'm not going to sully my reputation by appearing on a local talk show-"

Clint bumps Phil's shoulder lightly, and Phil tunes out the beginnings of an infamous Stark rant. "Wanna go back to your room?" he mouths. Phil nods a bit too eagerly, if the impish gleam he sees in Natasha's eyes as he pushes away from the table is anything to go by, and Clint silently pads after him, ignoring Stark's outraged, "Vanity Fair? _Vanity Fair_?!"


	3. Interviews Never Go Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint conducts a meticulously planned takeover of Phil's floor, and as it turns out, Tony is surprisingly prone to ogling boyfriends. Phil cooks pancakes and amuses himself with some (dirty, dirty) recollections, Clint's contributions are shut down and Thor is exceptionally vocal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few weeks after the events of "Vanity Fair is Evil".

Phil wakes to an arm wrapped around him tightly, the warm weight of Clint's chest against his back as he softly snores into his pillow.

Phil allows himself a soft smile, delighting the feel of Clint's sinuous body wrapped around his, still a novelty even after nearly three weeks of their relationship. (Phil still gets inordinately excited when he thinks about being a relationship with _Clint Barton_ )

After a moment, when he becomes uncomfortably aware of the inconvenient urge to go to the bathroom, Phil carefully wriggles out of Clint's grip, darting back quickly as he murmurs a sleepy, "Mrrgh..."

When Clint makes gentle grabby motions at his hands, Phil has to stifle his chuckle, a warm rush of affection bubbling in his chest. Much to his enjoyment, Clint is a natural cuddler, and after the initial surprise of the first few days (in which Clint had somehow managed to curl up to Phil's chest and tangle their arms together - Phil couldn't extract himself without waking him up), he found himself wondering how he'd possibly managed to sleep without the comforting presence of a sleepy, snuggly Clint.

He slips out of his room, leaving Clint dozing in the blankets, and nearly trips over a discarded pair of rather familiar combat boots on his way to the elevator.

After those first few days, Phil had begun noticing some of Clint's belongings making their way to his floor. It started with a toothbrush and a small plastic cup mysteriously appearing on his bathroom sink, closely followed by a razor in his cabinet and a new bottle of shampoo in his shower, and it hadn't taken Phil long to deduce that Clint was apparently engaged in a not-quite-hostile takeover of Phil's floor.

Phil was only too happy to let Clint continue appropriating territory. As a matter of fact, the embarrassingly intense session of lovemaking that had left Clint curled up in his bed had ensued when Phil had opened the door to be greeted by Clint in a tattered old t-shirt and a low-slung pair of comfortable looking sweatpants. While the captivating glimpses of Clint's tanned, strong body were enough to make Phil's mouth instantly go dry, he'd been unable to stifle an involuntary moan when he saw Betsy in Clint's lap, the archer engrossed in meticulously caring for his bow.

Clint's weapons are private. Clint's weapons are his, and Clint jealously guards them, keeping them to himself and only grudgingly relinquishing them to R&D and now Tony for development, and even keeping Betsy in Phil's room (let alone _cleaning_ her there) was an overwhelming show of Clint's trust in Phil, trust that sent electric tingles down Phil's spine and fanned the heat spiralling in the pit of his belly.

Clint had looked up, then, gaze full of surprise and hope and promise, as if he was still taken aback by the strong ( _too strong_ ) effect he had on Phil, and Phil had executed something altogether too similar to a pounce at the Clint's soft, open smile, barely having the restraint and presence of mind to fumble in the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube he'd begun keeping there expressly for that purpose.

Letting the elevator doors slide shut behind him, Phil presses the button for the communal floor, and pads out, stifling a yawn before grabbing flour and sugar and some baking soda before heading to the refrigerator. Clint's favorite breakfast food is pancakes, and he asks for so little that Phil is loathe to derive him of anything that gives him such pleasure, no matter how often Stark coughs  _"Whipped,"_ under his breath.

As he sets his pancake pan on the stove to heat, the soft shuffle of usually inaudible footsteps alerts him to Clint's presence. The gentle footfalls make their way to the coffee machine, because Clint and Phil work at S.H.I.E.L.D and as such require caffeine to operate at anything higher than minimal capacity, and just after Phil begins heating the butter, a tousled blonde head nuzzles at his shoulder.

"Morning," Phil says, feeling Clint's arms settle around him, Clint leaning on him, still half asleep. He presses a kiss to Phil's neck before humming contentedly, the sound vibrating through Phil, who takes a moment to curse butter for having such a low smoking point. All he wants to do is kiss Clint back, but he's learned, after several batches of burnt pancakes, that engaging a sleepy Clint in something as simple as a kiss somehow transitions into a leisurely make-out session. Phil blames Clint's unexpectedly arousing moans, deep and throaty, and the way he seems to melt into Phil's arms, comfortably warm and pliable, soft and yielding.

When the coffee machine beeps obnoxiously loudly (It's Tony's machine, after all), Clint stumbles away with an unsatisfied grumble, and Phil begins to pour batter onto the pan.

To Phil's surprise, living together with Clint is unexpectedly familiar. He'd never really paid attention to the routine the two of them had adopted back at S.H.I.E.L.D, unwilling to put a name to the emotion that filled his heart whenever he found a cup of coffee (black, one sugar) on his desk, or another of Clint's purple post-its, and made a point to return the small kindnesses, letting Clint crash on his sofa and bringing back some lunch for him as well whenever he managed to nag Phil into eating more. Now, when Phil makes breakfast, he makes a point of leaving the milk and sugar out, near the machine, and, regular as clockwork, Clint deposits a steaming mug of coffee (two sugars, splash of milk, because Phil drinks it more for the flavor than the caffeine nowadays) before lumbering off to seat himself at the table.

Raising the mug to his lips, slowly savoring the fragrant flavor gliding over his tongue, Phil flips the pancakes with single, deft flick of his wrist before artfully catching them all in a stack in a display of reflexes that has Clint snort a muttered, "Showoff," from behind him. After wrapping the remaining batter for future use - Tony in particular has become quite fond of pancakes in the morning - Phil heads to the fridge, deliberating only a moment until taking an additional bottle of maple syrup before setting both plate and syrup in front of Clint with a flourish.

"C'mere," Clint huffs, sliding to the side of his chair, and Phil carefully perches himself at the very edge, balancing precariously before Clint wraps around him like a limpet. The archer opens a bottle of maple syrup, eyeing it suspiciously before upending the whole thing on top of his pancakes, the amber liquid ever-so-slowly oozing.

Clint kisses Phil's ear, nipping it gently. "Thank you," he murmurs, as the final dregs of syrup drip down onto his plate, before turning away to grab a knife and fork, other arm still ensconcing Phil securely.

When Clint uses both utensils single handedly, Phil can't resist poking him in the ribs, eliciting a small growl and an unexpectedly satisfying shiver from the sniper. "Who's the showoff now?" he teases, and Clint licks syrup off his fork before drawing Phil into a searingly sweet kiss, flavored with hints of coffee and maple, cut with sugar. Clint pulls Phil in even closer, and Phil willingly leans in, ungracefully straddling Clint with embarrassingly jerky leg movements, the archer's chest rubbing against his in a way that sends tiny bolts of pleasure straight to his crotch. Now it's Phil's turn to groan.

"I don't thank you enough," Clint pants, when they break away, cheeks flushed, eyes finally awake.

Phil shrugs it off, doing his best to ignore the pleased flush that heats his cheeks, because Clint offering a sheepish "Thank you" with a shy smile is one of the most arousing things he's ever witnessed, but Clint shakes his head. "No, really." he insists. "I mean, you cook for me every morning without asking, and you don't mind when I act like an octopus, and I'm fairly sure that you've, uh-" he blushes, "You've probably noticed I've been invading your floor."

Phil leans back to let Clint see the grin he can't repress, before moving in to place a small kiss at the quirk of the archer's mouth, catching a splash of maple. "Don't mind isn't the turn of phrase I'd use. More like 'enjoy', or maybe 'adore'."

Clint ducks his head, but he can't hide the way his blush crawls down his neck, even his shoulders flushing pink. "Just saying," he murmurs, but Phil's known him for more than a decade and sees the surprised smile he's doing his best to hide, the smile that makes Phil's heart lurch in his chest when he sees it, the smile that makes him want to sucker punch every person who made Clint feel like he isn't worthy of affection, that he's not good enough, that he'll never ever be wanted.

"Are you ready for the interview today?" Phil asks, watching Clint eat, the archer's fluid, graceful movements incredibly captivating and unexpectedly sexy, the up and down bob of his adam's apple as he swallows igniting flickers of a simmering heat in Phil's belly, eliciting memories of Clint on his knees in front of Phil, leisurely sucking up and down his cock, eyes shining with a mischievous light as he pulls back to ask, "Like that?" with a too-innocent grin, all teeth.

Clint groans, which doesn't help Phil's predicament at all. "Don't remind me," he mutters, and Phil fights the urge to duck his head when Clint nonchalantly brushes his groin with his warm, muscled thigh. When Clint's soft smirk widens into a wicked grin, Phil takes a moment to carefully reasses all of the (not really) casual touches and borderline-inappropriate caresses Clint has a habit of heaping on him, because Clint definitely enjoys making Phil horny and frustrated, emphasis on both horny _and_ frustrated.

Phil wishes he could blame him, but it really goes both ways, and he delights in having the last word when Clint is gibbering under him, begging with a litany of, "Please, please, please, _please_ ," as Phil methodically scissors his fingers, letting them brush against the spot that makes Clint jerk and groan and arch off the bed with a muted squeak, teasing and twisting for endless minutes until Clint is pleading nearly incoherently, voice husky and choked, before Phil finally slides inside him, up to the hilt, and Clint immediately clenches around him with a sob, pulling him in, _wanting_ , before hissing in pleasure as Phil slowly, slowly draws out, almost to the tip, before pushing back in, Clint whispering "Yes, _yes_ ," underneath him.

(When they're wrapped together in bed, after wiping each other down, doing their best to stay away from the wet spot, Clint always teasingly accuses Phil of cruel and unusual punishment, but the one time Phil tried to go in after only the required amount of prep, Clint was uncharacteristically meek for the rest of the night before admitting to Phil, just before falling asleep, that he really likes it when Phil makes him wait because he feels, and Phil still shivers when he thinks of that word framed in Clint's ravished, ravaged lips, _cherished_. Needless to say, Phil never preps him for anything less than ten minutes now.)

A muted sigh of resignation alerts them to Tony's presence, and he stumbles into the room, hand tightly covering his ears, muttering, "I did not need to see that, I most _decidedly_ did _not_ need to see _that_ ," and Phil ruefully slides off Clint with a chuckle at Tony's theatrics. Clint pecks him on the cheek before rising, having scarfed away the pancakes at a speed that would make Steve and Thor proud (never get between a god and his Pop-Tarts), and starts washing up both his plate. When he reaches for Phil's discarded pan, Phil feels a dizzying rush of gratitude.

"Stark," Phil greets him, and Tony offers up a halfhearted wave before nearly tripping over the counter, still covering his eyes. "Stark," he says again, with an added edge of command, "You can look now."

Tony cautiously uncovers his eyes, gaze flicking from Clint's bare back to Phil before zeroing in on Phil's underpants. "Nice," he snorts, taking in the familiar bow and arrow motif.

Without pause, Clint whacks him upside the head before returning to his washing up, cheerfully humming. "Don't ogle my boyfriend, Tony."

Stark issues a garbled noise of outrage. "You didn't even look- Coulson, he didn't even _look_! That's not fair!"

Phil levels an impassive stare at him, and Tony rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Need I remind you, Stark, that you did actually ogle me just a moment ago?"

Tony flaps a hand, brushing it off as, "Semantics," before grabbing another pan from the cabinet, dropping it with a clang onto the stovetop before filling it with a quantity of oil more suited for deep-frying than for breakfast foods.

Clint shudders. "I can smell the trans fats from here."

"The only fats around here is you," Tony snarks back, and Clint turns with an incredulous eyebrow raise. Phil takes a moment to appreciate the sculpted musculature rippling (criminally attractively) under his tanned skin, and when Tony dry-swallows, Clint frowns.

"Dude, you really have to stop ogling peoples' boyfriends, that shit isn't proper," he chastises, and Phil fights down the heady rush of remembering that Clint is his _boyfriend_ , his- God, it's like having a first crush all over again, just a thousand times worse.

Clint seems to key in on Phil's unpleasant epiphany. "Don't worry, I still love you," he says, and when Phil freezes, he flushes a vibrant shade of fuchsia because they still haven't said the l-word and he really lo- likes Clint but what if Clint gets tired of him and-

"Cute." Tony deadpans. "See if you still love me after that interview."

"Dumbass," Clint replies, pink still tingeing his cheeks, and that's when Phil remembers that _Clint_ said it first, that _Clint_ was the one who admitted it, the one who's looking at Phil with a soft, resigned smile and sadness in his eyes, and before he can think it through he's propelling himself at Clint, pinning him against the sink, kissing him again and again until they're both panting, whispering breathless _I love you_ s into Clint's mouth.

Stark coughs pointedly, and Phil pulls back, his mortification instantly dashed by the wide-eyed, awestruck, loving look Clint's giving him, mouth hanging slightly ajar, as if he can't believe Phil just did that, just told him he loves him too, before his mouth breaks into a delighted grin.

"Please, spare my sensibilities!" Stark entreats just before Phil is about to kiss Clint again. "At least keep the disgustingly adorable PDA until after the interview? I know we're definitely going to need some cheering up."

Clint mouths _later_ at Phil and Phil nods, choosing to ignore how Tony obliquely admitted that he really isn't as grossed out by their handsiness as he'd have them believe. Clint jerks an eyebrow, a silent, _Did you catch that?_ and when Phil nods again, he smirks smugly.

The unsaid _he loves us_ is loud and clear.

 

\---

 

Phil is still reeling from the speed in which the interview went to shit when Tony bursts through the door, ranting at full speed about "-inconsiderate reporters asking loaded questions without _any_ basis or reason just to get good publicity because all they care about is money and _maybe_ if they cared a little bit more about the people they're interviewing they'd get more requests for interviews _approved_ -", the rest of the team silent, Clint teetering some distance behind the others.

Wordlessly, Phil rushes up to meet him, catching him in a tight hug, and the archer shakes in his grip, trembling hands roving all over Phil, and Phil's heart breaks a little and he sees red all over again because they asked Clint about  _Barney fucking Barton_ after being _explicitly_ informed of the publicity lawsuits Stark Industries could wreck them with, and he knows they'll get away with it because the questions didn't actually mention Barney. They just chipped away at Clint's defenses with, "When you were in the circus-" and "Was there anyone particular that-" and "Wouldn't you say-" that left Clint fumbling with his words, voice growing softer and softer, until _Barney_ slipped out and his face froze, emotions laid terrifying bare, before his expression smoothed out into an impassive façade.

It takes a moment for Phil to realize he's tuned out when Clint is murmuring "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here, I'm not hurt," slowly caressing Phil's clenched fists, eyes shining with worry. "Thanks," Phil murmurs, and Clint offers a weak, watery smile.

Sometime during his mental BSOD, Tony had switched discussions to possibilities for a next interview. "I personally think talk shows are the way to go," Steve insists, brow furrowed, and Tony shakes his head. "That's just bullshit gossip wrapped up as questions, we'll end up looking fake. We need someone who asks real questions, questions that display us as more than broken men-" at Natasha's deadly elbow, he wheezes out, "And women. We'll need to take a look at interviews, maybe prearrange some of the questions-"

"What about YouTube?" Clint interrupts.

Five pairs of eyes, Phil's included, bore into him, as Thor attempts to whisper into Bruce's ear, "Has the hawk's eyesight weakened? I have yet to see one of us resemble a tube-"

The rest of the team bursts into excited murmurs, Bruce explaining the concept of video streaming websites to Thor as Steve and Natasha begin deliberating the idea, and Phil pulls Clint into another hug, because Clint is the one who sees better from a distance, comes up with plans no one else would think of.

"YouTube?" Tony spits, outraged, the toll of being questioned about Afghanistan evident in the strain around his eyes, and Clint's happy grin flickers, dimming. "You're going to put us on _YouTube_ like some struggling music artists and post videos of our happy, messed up lives!? Come on, Clint." He rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

When Clint freezes, stock still under Phil's fingers, Phil hurriedly turns to Tony, because he should have _known_ , should have been prepared, because even though Clint has learned to cope, has learned to deal with it, talking about Barney cracks his usual composure, bringing back drunken yells of, _"Worthless!"_ and the sound of flesh hitting flesh and half-faded bruises and fear and hurt and _pain_ , and he barely manages a warning "Stark-!"

"You think I'm stupid?"

Clint's voice is soft, pitched low, and absolutely _wrecked_ , and his face has settled back into his impassive mask, as if Tony's answer doesn't matter, as if this is just some routine snark between the two of them, and Tony, still unused to Clint, having only known him for five months, never seeing the Clint of _before_ , the Clint of ten years ago, the Clint left behind when Barney took everything away, doesn't backtrack quickly enough. "You have to admit it was a pretty dumb idea-"

"You think I'm dumb?"

Phil knows this feeling, the chill of heavy dread settling in the pit of his stomach, because when Clint goes this silent, everything in his immediate vicinity does too, as if the absence of Clint's voice leeches the sound out of everything else. Natasha's eyes are flinty, and Steve is obviously surprised, but Tony just looked chagrined and-

And not at all apologetic.

The vent closes silently above them, and Phil's arms close around empty air.

Slowly, deliberately, Natasha turns to Tony.

"I thought it was a great idea." she says neutrally, voice even, uninflected, but Tony flinches and Phil feels a vindictive rush of _good_ before he tamps down on it, worry for Clint winning over every other emotion, and he's halfway to the door when Steve erupts with, "I can't believe you'd _say_ that, Tony!"

Thor's bellow of "The Hawk's contribution was extremely well thought out, undeserving of your scorn, you-" is cut off by the soft close of the elevator doors behind Phil.

Phil presses the button to his floor, and hopes against hope that he can still salvage this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classic cliffhanger. Sorry :)


	4. It's Red for a Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil lets himself hope that Clint hid himself in Phil's rooms instead of running away, Tony composes an apology speech he doesn't get the chance to fully present, and Natasha is exasperated with everyone bar Thor, Bruce, and maybe Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : Contains brief hints of past child abuse.

When the elevator doors open, Phil closes his eyes, biting his lip, unwilling to hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , Clint is waiting, maybe he's made his way here to pick up his stuff and realized he doesn't want to try to leave, maybe-

"Phil."

It's so soft that he thinks he's imagined it, and he can't help opening his eyes to make sure, and yes, Clint is there, and he's huddled in a makeshift nest on the bed, and his eyes are red-rimmed but he's still _there_ and he hasn't run away, he trusts Phil enough to let him see him like this, trusts Phil enough to seek him out instead of leaving without a trace.

Wordlessly, Phil throws himself onto the bed, and Clint wraps his arms around him and doesn't let go, tucking his chin into Phil's shoulder, his back heaving soundlessly as Phil murmurs soft platitudes into his ear, stroking gentle circles into his back.

"He didn't mean it," Clint insists, and Phil recognizes the declaration for what it really is.

"No, he didn't mean it," he replies, smoothing down Clint's hair, but Clint resolutely nuzzles into his shoulder, still unwilling to look Phil in the eye.

"He didn't mean it," Clint says again, but now it's shaky, trembling, and he finally looks at Phil and lets him see the terror in his eyes, the fear of inadequacy, of never being good enough or just _being enough_ , "Right?"

"He didn't mean it," Phil repeats, staring Clint down, letting him see the resolution in Phil's expression, the confidence in his gaze, and Clint finally sighs and burrows into Phil's grip, with a sad laugh.

"You'd think I'd- I'd be over it by now," he breathes, and Phil hates how full of self-loathing his voice is, how practiced his words are, as if he's quoting from a well-known story, telling himself to _Toughen up!_ and _Stop with the fucking crying!_  because _Everyone hates pussies, I didn't even hit you that hard, you miserable, worthless piece of shit!_ "You'd think that, after ten fucking years, I'd finally be able to believe in myself, right?"

Phil shakes his head as a tiny piece of his heart breaks again, and again. "No." he says, hushed. "I don't think that at all."

Clint looks up at him, with such open vulnerability and _need_ in his eyes, Phil can't resist kissing him softly, nipping gently at his lips. "I don't think ten years are long enough to get over the single person you trusted leaving you for dead." he murmurs, and Clint grips at his shirt, eyes aching and trusting, hanging on to his every word. "I don't think that having weaknesses makes you any less amazing or brilliant or beautiful. I think it makes you strong, stronger than most everyone, because you suffered through it and you dealt with it and you're still you, Clint," he pleads, willing Clint to understand, just this once. Clint snorts, almost mocking, but he still hasn't looked away, and Phil can see how desperately he needs this, and he kisses Clint gently on the tip of his nose.

Clint drops his gaze then. "But Tony said..."

"Tony is a really stupid genius."

Clint smiles weakly. "Well, he's still a genius."

Phil frowns, a grim suspicion blooming in his mind. "What do you mean by that?"

Clint stares at him for a moment, blue eyes wide, incredulous, angry. "Tony is a _genius_ , Phil," he snaps, voice low. "He built his first robot when he was fourteen, for fuck's sake! Can you honestly tell me that you think that a worthless, ex-carnie fuckwit with barely a GED to his name-"

Phil kisses him, hands clutching at Clint's hair, at his back, locking them together. He kisses him furiously, breathlessly, _bruisingly_ , smashing his mouth to Clint's, teeth clicking together, putting all of his desperation and his reassurance and his panic and his love in a single, savage kiss.

After a moment, he loosens his grip on Clint, letting him end the kiss if he so wishes, but Clint deepens the kiss again, searching for reassurance, swiping at the bottom of Phil's lip as if to ask, _Are you sure? Are you certain?_

When Phil draws back, he lets every single emotion he feels flicker across his face, frustration at Clint's self-deprecation, concern for Clint's wellbeing, frantic worry for Clint's sake, trust in Clint, love for Clint. "Clint," he says, softly. "You're the only one I want by my side. You, not Tony, or Steve, or Natasha or Thor or Bruce. You're the one who sees things from afar, who spots the patterns I can't, the one whose skillset is the complete polar opposite of mine."

Clint just looks at him, and Phil lets him, letting him see everything written on his face, letting him process it in his own time, in his own way, unhurried and unrestrained, and after an eternity trapped in a moment, a hesitant grin breaks across Clint's face. "You mean it," he says, in wonder, and Phil's gut roils because _he's meant it all along and Clint didn't believe it_. "You really mean it."

"I meant everything I said, Clint," Phil whispers, because this is something that must be said, something important, something Clint has to hear. "I've been in love with you for _years_. I've seen the good, and the bad, and the terrifying and the absolute fucking worst and the brilliant, brilliant best, and I still want you. I still need you."

Clint ropes him in, clutching him to his chest, and Phil goes, letting Clint find the comfort he so desperately searches for, and Clint whispers imperceptibly into his ear, warm breath brushing a soft tattoo against his skin, and Phil strains until he just barely catches, "Please stay, stay with me, please," and he caresses Clint's back, massaging his shoulders, and Clint clutches him even tighter.

"Remember the day you told me?" Phil asks, quietly, keeping his voice light, and Clint nods, his cascade of minute whispers unceasing. "You said you wanted to take it slow, to date me properly. And I was really happy, because that's what I want too."

Clint nods jerkily, now, and Phil can see his throat working, as if he's trying to speak but no words are coming out, so he brushes his hand against the nape of Clint's neck comfortingly, almost possessively. "I want to take you out on dates," Phil continues. "I want to take you out for shawarma, and Thai, and Chinese and Italian and everything in between. And we'll order dessert first," he pauses, at Clint's soft huff of laughter, "Because we both know that dating as Avengers is liable to be interrupted by world ending catastrophes."

Clint nods again, and after a moment, realizing he's waiting, Phil continues. "And then, when Christmas comes, we'll take Lola out for a drive, to Massachusetts, and you'll get to meet my parents, and my sisters and their husbands, and my nieces and nephews."

"I'm not exactly the kind of person you take home to your family," Clint murmurs, with a soft sniff, and Phil shakes his head.

"Who wouldn't want to introduce you to their family, huh?" he asks Clint, and Clint shrugs. "I mean, seriously. I'm dating Clinton Francis Barton, I get to show him off. You can show the kids card tricks, and pretend to be bad at pool so we can hustle all the grownups, and we'll renege on the annual Coulson snowball fight, form our own team. They'll never know what hit them."

Clint chuckles, and Phil's heart warms. "Damn straight," he sighs, and Phil hides a smile, knowing that his mind is already working, calculating optimum weight and density for snowballs, adjusting trajectories to allow for his unenhanced strength without a bow, working out the mechanics of particularly well defended snow nests. After a moment, Clint perks up, and turns to Phil with a mischievous smile. "Promise?" he asks, and Phil laughs.

"You know, if you want to see my baby pictures that much, I could just ask Jen to send some albums over," he informs him, and Clint pouts.

"Half the fun is doing it drunk," Clint grumbles, and Phil tousles his hair.

"You haven't tasted my mother's eggnog." He mimes a gun with his fingers, pretend-shooting it with a small _"Pow!"_ , and Clint- Clint honest-to-god giggles.

"You're such a dork," he accuses Phil, shining eyes molten with warmth, with fondness, and Phil kisses him again.

"You love it."

Clint's eyes turn soft and vulnerable. "Yeah, I do," he admits, so painfully honest that Phil's heart flutters. "You're my dork."

Phil can't help himself from kissing Clint again for that, can't help himself, because Clint has claimed so little as his own, only his bow and his arrows and a knife or two, that knowing Clint wants him right back is ample grounds for a kiss, or maybe fifteen.

Clint swats at his shoulder playfully. "Phil, stop, I was planning on going back up sometime in the next few days, not being roped into a loop of endless, amazing... sex..."

His eyes glaze over, and he turns back to Phil, licking his lips. "On second thought-"

Phil jumps off the bed, and Clint whines. "Oh, come on," he needles, "Just a blowjob, maybe a handjob, we don't even need to use _lube_ , I can make you come and lick the mess up-" and Phil shivers, because _that_ is playing dirty, and from Clint's wicked grin, he knows exactly what he's doing, "And I'll kneel on the ground and call you _sir_ , how 'bout that, huh? You can even fuck my mouth, unrestrained, because I had a gig with the sword swallowers sometimes, after practice-"

Phil claps his hands over his ears, because his heart is confused about whether to pump more blood to his already flushed face or direct it downwards to a more pressing concern. "Team first, but I'll use my tie tonight," he promises, scrunching his eyes shut, because if he knows Clint (and he does, he knows him so well, but Clint still manages to surprise him nearly every day), Clint is staring at him with the adoring gaze Phil is powerless to resist.

"Yes," Clint breathes, and Phil would bet good money that he's drooling, "Okay, yeah, sure, one sec," and Phil hides a grin because he doesn't always play by the rules as well.

A sharp smack to his ass sends him jumping in surprise, eyes flying open, and he whirls around to find a cackling Clint sprinting for the elevator. Phil growls, because if Clint wants to bring ass smacks into this, so help him, Phil will _show_ him _ass smacks_.

"Hold the elevator, JARVIS, please," he instructs, just as Clint breathlessly hollers, "To the lounge, Jarv!"

"Unfortunately, Agent Barton," JARVIS intones, mechanical voice tinted with the faintest hint of humor, "Considering this is Agent Coulson's floor, only Master Stark is authorized to override his commands."

As Phil bears upon Clint, feeling a ferocious grin split his face, Clint pales. "Oh, _shit,_ " he breathes, before Phil pins him to the mirrored wall of the elevator with an arm flush against his chest, ravaging his mouth in a furious, frantic display of passion, before reaching down to palm Clint through his (tight, so tight, fucking _skintight_ ) jeans, greedily inhaling Clint's breathless moan, squeezing his hand savagely enough to make Clint squirm underneath him, panting and breathless, jerking his hips into Phil's hand, searching for _"More, yes, please more, Phil, oh god-!"_  and Phil lazily rubs up and down, waiting until Clint's eyes squeeze shut and he throws his head backwards, crying out in pleasure, before abruptly flipping Clint over and placing a sharp slap against his shapely butt.

Clint trembles underneath him with a surprised whimper, and Phil immediately draws backwards, grinning smugly.

"JARVIS, you may now take us to the lounge," he informs the AI, proud of himself for how steady his voice still is, and Clint turns to peer at him with ( _smouldering_ ) accusing eyes.

"They'll see it through the jeans!" he whines, and Phil takes a second to deliberate before making the executive decision to sink to his knees, fumbling with Clint's zipper.

After a tense moment, Clint joins in, hands hastily unbuttoning the fabric, and when Phil looks upwards, he's breathless and not a little wild-eyed, panting heavily. "Your turn next time," he reminds him, and Clint nods earnestly.

"You can count on it, Phil- Oh- _Phil-_ "

 

\---

 

Ten minutes later than he'd originally planned, Phil haltingly strides out of the elevator, and he can feel Clint's sated smirk boring into the back of his head.

Before he started his relationship with Clint, Phil would've scoffed at the idea of someone so eager to give a blowjob.

The team has settled down in the lounge, and have been waiting for quite a while, if the tiny crease in Natasha's forehead that passes for a scowl counts. It smooths out when she notices him and Clint, to be replaced by a knowing eyebrow and a cryptic twitch of the mouth, and that's the reason why Phil has given up trying to hide anything from Natasha.

"Welcome back," she murmurs, reaching for a bottle of liquid polish, delicately gripping Thor's meaty fingers, and because Natasha is classy (unlike _some people_ ), she doesn't emphasise the _come_ , though Clint still snickers softly. Steve beckons for them to sit companionably, and Clint drags Phil down onto the vacant couch. When they're settled, Tony raises his head from its rest on his arms, expression broken and apologetic.

"Clint, I," he starts, before swallowing, so obviously distressed that Phil's chest aches a little. "I'm really sorry- I know, I know that I can't really apologize, but I was in the wrong. It was a _really_ shitty choice of words, and you have to know that I never once thought you were stupid, or dumb, or-"

"Thanks, Tony." Clint murmurs, his smile a tad sheepish, and Phil affectionately rubs his shoulder, because Clint's incredible capacity to trust, to like, to forgive, will never cease to amaze him.

Tony, however, hasn't got a lot of experience in Clint's way of dealing with apologies (or compliments, for that matter) - i.e, brushing them off - and he shakes his head. "No, you shouldn't thank me! I should never have said that, should never have _implied_ it-"

"Seriously, Tony," Clint laughs, the tips of his ears flaring an embarrassed pink. "I overreacted as well. It's been a long and crappy day, and we're all tired. If it makes you feel better, I won't give you a biscuit, but it's all good, we're fine."

Tony stares at him for a full second before his mouth twitches into a smile. "If you put it that way..." he finishes inconclusively, and Steve cuffs him fondly at the back of his head. "Ow- What-"

"Say thank you, Tony," Steve mutters, and Phil fights back a rush of excitement because _Captain America is defending his boyfriend_ -

"Dork," Clint stage whispers, and Phil elbows him so hard he collapses with a yelp.

"Thank you, Clint," Tony mutters, before turning to Steve with a glare. "Can we please talk about the YouTube video we were just discussing now?"

It takes Clint a moment to realize what they're talking about. "Wait," he says, hesitant. "Are we actually posting a video to YouTube?"

"Yeah!" Tony enthuses, bouncing up and down excitedly, his glare forgotten in favor of sharing his latest idea. "After you left and Bruce tore me a new one for making you feel undervalued-" Phil smiles at Bruce and the scientist shyly ducks his head, "-We discussed viable alternatives to talk shows, but a YouTube video seemed like the best idea."

"Friend Tony has shown us moving images he has called 'video blogs'," Thor rumbles, apparently unbothered by Natasha methodically painting his fingernails. "He explained that they are captured with the aid of a camera of video, and are shared on the wide web of worlds so that all may observe the actions displayed in them and comment in awe!"

Phil impassively notes that Tony possesses a remarkable variety of grimaces.

Tony pats Thor on the back. "Something like that, big guy."

"As Natasha said, I think it's a great idea," Bruce confirms, and Natasha dips her head in agreement. "Our main problem is that the public sees us as heroes, these moral, righteous figures upholding standards that are largely extinct in this day and age. Bringing our daily interactions and some of the more ridiculous cases we need to deal with into the public eye will serve to show our more humane side," he finishes, uncharacteristically verbose,

Clint sighs. "Now all we need is a cameraman."

It takes a moment for Phil to notice that, in the silence lingering after Clint's throwaway comment, the assembled Avengers seem to have come to a silent decision to stare at him, Clint with a truly impish grin. "No." he declares. "Absolutely not."

 

\---

 

The video begins with a shot of the spacious living room of the Avengers tower, showing a dark-haired man engrossed in writing on a tablet, a short-haired blonde man furiously sketching the view from the window, and a longer-haired blonde with exceptionally developed muscles apparently captivated by an episode of My Little Pony.

"It has recently been brought to my attention that people believe the Avengers are, for lack of a better word, superhuman." speaks an unseen narrator, a bland, impassive voice. "I have concluded that in order to rectify this situation, I will document some of their day-to-day antics in video form. Now, hopefully, the public will realize that the Avengers are just as human as they are... and considerably more infuriating."

"Hey!" a voice calls out, and the camera quickly pans over to focus on a disembodied head, popping over the kitchen counter. "We're not annoying!"

A dark, mechanical device moves into view, from the camera's left hand side, gripped by a large hand. "I have an entire season of Supernanny and a taser that beg to differ, Stark."

Tony pales. "Sir, yes sir."

With a sudden jerk, the camera tilts sideways, before the video blurs, coming to rest from a bird's eye-view, revealing a blue-eyed man with thinning, light brown hair, and an impressively impassive scowl. "Clint, no more grabbing arrows," he warns, a muffled chuckle coming from behind the camera, presumably belonging to its current possessor.

"So, uh, my name is Clint," says Clint, flipping the camera to reveal a pair of twinkling, sky-blue eyes under a shock of blonde hair, framed by the dark bellows of an air vent. "You may know me better as Hawkeye, and I'm hijacking this video."

"Clint," echoes again from below, with the barest sound of urgency, and Clint's eyes flick downwards before he sticks his tongue out.

"Sorry, Phil, the camera's mine now!"

"I wasn't talking about-"

A shadowy figure appears behind his shoulder, and Clint startles, jerking around before the camera is snatched out of his hand, tumbling to the ground, lithely rolling in a blur of dark black and red, before stabilizing, the bearer padding over to place it on the kitchen counter, showing a momentary glimpse of Tony before he squawks indignantly "Not in an apron!" and the camera is spun around.

"Idiots." growls a red-haired, blue-eyed woman, before striding off, settling herself beside the larger of the two seated blondes. As he softly sings along to the end credits of the show he's watching, she companionably begins braiding his hair.

 

\---

 

The video is an instant hit.

The nation unites in order to analyze the symbolism in the video, concluding that it was an extensive allegory for Captain America's awakening in the future, since the Black Widow's fiery hair was obviously a metaphor for the melting of the ice he was trapped in.

The Avengers unanimously agree to start a dedicated vlog channel, updating with one or two (and occasionally three) videos every day.

Steve manages to garner a massive cult following on deviantART, and Bruce often commissions his artwork, having somehow started an extremely popular Steve Rogers slash Tony Stark tumblr blog.

After a few choice encounters with a rather grotesque race of extra-terrestrials, Thor is barred from taking the camera with him to Asgard, and decides to contribute instead by loudly lauding the achievements of each Avenger (in rhyming verse) and, apparently, strutting around naked.

Every so often, Natasha steals the camera in order to post a makeup tutorial, but after the reporter who publishes an article titled, "The Black Widow: Deadly Woman or Scared Little Girl?" is found mysteriously gagged and duct taped to the ceiling with no recollection of how he got there apart from a brief glimpse of peonies, the only one to ever mention it is Clint, whose attempts to stage a collaboration have so far been declined.

Pepper is annoyed at not being included, but after Tony decides to make her the unwilling focus of the next two videos, she places a blanket ban over videotaping her without her express permission, grumbling about billionaires who should know better.

Clint attempts to do the same for Fury, but grudgingly stops his voyeuristic air vent ventures after Hill threatens him with forcing him to complete his own paperwork instead of palming it off to his boyfriend.

 

\---

 

All in all, Phil decides, it was a brilliant idea.

He may be biased because it was proposed by his boyfriend, but hey. It's only to be expected.

(The enthusiastically athletic apology sex Clint initiates after stealing the camera may or may not further affect his decision. Phil already forgives him by the third extremely comprehensive round, but Clint insists on another few shared orgasms. Just to make sure.

That's his excuse, and Hawkeye always sticks to his guns. Or, well, bow.)

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for sticking with me through the arduous process of getting my thoughts down on paper and immediately revising them because, _no, that's out of character!_
> 
> There may or may not be a sequel. It may or may not involve Christmas.


End file.
